The Hanging Cage (The Northminster Mysteries Book 4)

by Harriet Smart

“Your wife mentioned she saw him here on Wednesday.”

  “She may have done.”

  “And you didn’t?” Giles asked.

  Patchett shrugged and turned away, stooping to pick up a white feather from the brick floor.

  “Mr Patchett,” Giles said. “Did you see him or not?”

  “Aye,” he said after a moment. He did not meet Giles’ eye but rather glanced towards his birds, almost as if he were giving them some signal. Was he priming them to fly at him, Giles wondered, and come to his defence? For he was surely keeping some secret.

  “And you spoke to him?”

  There was another long silence from Patchett. A brown and cream hawk stirred and turned on its perch, stretching out its magnificent wings and flapping them, as if to warn Giles not to ask any more questions. Patchett gave a nervous glance towards the ladder to the second floor, and rubbed his face.

  “Is he in trouble?” Patchett said again.

  “He might be,” said Giles, deciding that he would go up that ladder. “And you had better tell me if you know where he is, if you wish to stay out of trouble yourself, Mr Patchett.”

  Patchett grimaced and then pointed upwards towards the ceiling.

  Giles climbed up the ladder. As he did he could hear someone stirring and as he put his head through the hatch, he saw a white-faced young man looming over him. Giles recognised him from the miniature that Mrs Ampner had shown him.

  “Gosforth?” Giles said. The young man retreated back into the shadows as Giles climbed into the attic.

  “S..s...sir?” he said.

  He looked exhausted and wretched, standing there with his great coat wrapped about him for comfort. A glance revealed that his quarters would not have been comfortable ones for a gently-bred young man: a straw pallet on the floor and no heating.

  “I am Major Vernon, from the County Constabulary,” Giles said. “I wish to speak you about Miss Barker’s death, Mr Gosforth.”

  Gosforth nodded, screwing up his face, as if in pain.

  “Let’s get out of here, shall we?” Giles went on, having an idea that a chair by the fire and a drink would encourage him to unburden himself. The man stank of a guilty conscience.

  Inside the Black Cat, Mrs Patchett took them to a snug little parlour where it seemed Mr Patchett’s gentleman customers usually sat. She appeared quite shocked at Gosforth’s appearance – clearly she had no part in the concealment, and it was with much head-shaking she went off to fetch brandy, bread and cheese, and hot water.

  “Sit down there, won’t you?” said Giles to Gosforth, pointing to the chair by the fire.

  Gosforth obeyed and stared into the fire, swallowing hard.

  Giles sat down opposite and took out his notebook.

  “I want you tell me what happened on Wednesday morning,” he said. “How did you learn of Miss Barker’s death?”

  “There was a scream,” he said. “Susan came screaming out of the room to find my sister. That woke me. That was the first I heard of it.”

  “So you got out of bed?”

  “Yes, I went to see what the bother was all about – why Susan was bawling like that.”

  “And then?”

  “I went into her bedroom. I followed my sister in – and my sister was standing there with Bel’s hand in hers and saying, ‘We need the doctor – go and get Fellowes. Send Jack to get him.’ So I ran downstairs and told Jack to go and fetch Fellowes. Then I went back upstairs into her room and my sister was down on her knees by the bed, half in hysterics now, and...” He broke off and looked pointedly away from Giles. “And that was the first time I really saw her, and it was clear that she was – she wasn’t there any more. She’d gone. She was cold to the touch.”

  There was a knock at the door, and Mrs Patchett came in with a tray. Gosforth shrank back into his seat as she set out the food on the table in front of him.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs P.,” he muttered.

  “If you have led my Jerry into trouble...” Mrs Patchett said fiercely, banging down a glass in front of him.

  “I – I didn’t mean...” Gosforth said, but words deserted him and he stared away as Mrs Patchett left the room. Then when she had gone, he reached for the brandy and drank some of it, with both his hands trembling as they lifted the glass. “I didn’t mean any harm,” he said, managing to look at Giles now. “I just couldn’t. She was gone and...” He took another swig of brandy and began to cough on it. “And everything was dark. Everything,” he added, forcing out the words despite his cough. “I had to get away from there.”

  “You were close, I understand?” Giles said, gently.

  “Who told you?”

  “Lord Milburne. He suggested to me that you and Bel had married, yes? That is what you both wanted? He thought you might have managed it, with your sister’s help.”

  “I loved her,” he said. “It wasn’t why you think, what everyone will think. I would have done if she hadn’t a penny. Please understand that, sir.”

  “I do; but I need to know a little more. So you were married?”

  Gosforth answered by digging into his coat pocket. He produced a gold ring and laid it on the table.

  “She couldn’t wear it yet, so she gave it to me for safe-keeping,” he said.

  “She gave it to you? Are you sure?” Giles said. “You did not take it from her room, or from her finger?”

  He shook his head slowly.

  “She gave it to me after the wedding. After we left the church. You can ask my sister.”

  “Who has helped you in all this?”

  “Yes.”

  “You both married well, did you not?” Giles said. “A wealthy lawyer and his equally wealthy ward.”

  “That has nothing to do with this!” exclaimed Gosforth.

  “But you don’t have money of your own, do you, Mr Gosforth, nor a profession that is likely to make you any?”

  “That is irrelevant! I loved her!”

  “I am sure. But money has its own attractions. And when a man who has just got himself a fortune takes flight when the source of that fortune dies quite unexpectedly, then sordid questions must be asked. Why did you run away – did you think that Mrs Gosforth’s death would raise uncomfortable questions?”

  “It was not for the money,” he said. “I loved her.”

  “Whatever you say, Mr Gosforth, but you have pointed the finger of suspicion at yourself by your actions and I am going to need to know exactly you why felt the need to run away and conceal yourself in a hay-loft for three days. Yes?”

  Gosforth screwed up his face again and said, “I don’t know what I was thinking. I was in such a state of... I could not deal with myself. All I knew was that she had gone.” He pressed his hands to his face, attempting to conceal his emotions.

  “And you were afraid?” Giles said, softly. “And full of regret, perhaps? Is that why you ran away?”

  The young man lowered his hands a little, revealing his tear-soaked eyes. He seemed about to speak, but at that moment the door banged open and a man in a green riding coat strolled into the room.

  Giles turned in his chair, and half rose, somewhat annoyed by this interruption. “Excuse me, but this a private meeting!” he said.

  “Gosforth, is that you?” said the man. Gosforth had got to his feet at the sight of him. “Perhaps when you have done your business here, you would favour me with your company?”

  “Yes, yes, of course, sir,” said Gosforth.

  The gentleman closed the door behind him. Gosforth seemed to have shrunk into the darkest corner of the room. He had his hands in his overcoat pockets.

  “Who was that?” Giles asked.

  “Squire Yardley,” said Gosforth.

  “You’re friends?”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Gosforth said, taking a little flask from his pocket. He fumbled to remove the stopper and then raised it to his lips.

  “What have you got there?” Giles said, but Gosforth was already tipping the contents of the fl
ask into his mouth. Giles dashed forward and attempted to relieve him of it, but he resisted, turning away into the corner so that he could finish. Then he flung the empty bottle at the hearth where it smashed and stood defiantly in front of Giles, a smile on his lips.

  At the same time Giles smelled the distinct aroma of bitter almonds.

  “What was that?” said Giles. “What the devil...”

  Gosforth began to shake and twitch and was soon gasping for breath. Giles grabbed him in the hope of getting him to vomit by putting his fingers down his throat. This was a procedure he know of only in theory. The reality of attempting it was not easy, especially as Gosforth’s gasping and convulsions grew ever stronger. At the same time he was fighting any assistance. There was a terrible manic gleam in his eye that screamed that he meant to die there and then, and that Giles could do nothing to help him.

  And then he suddenly collapsed utterly into a dead weight, motionless in Giles’ arms. His head fell forward onto his shoulder, and although the boy was not well built, Giles found himself staggering under the unexpected weight. He managed to manoeuvre him towards the settle, and put him down, and check for any remaining signs of life, but it was clear enough that there were none. Gosforth was dead.

  He stood back and worked for a long moment on his composure. He was shaking with the shock, but he knew he must not be overcome by it.

  He scanned the room, and saw the smashed flask lying on the hearth. There was a label about the shattered neck, fixed with ribbon, and the flames were about to consume it. He retrieved it just in time and stood staring at it. Written on it, in the same elaborate hand as the bottles on Miss Barker’s dressing table, were the words: ‘Endless peace’.

  Chapter Eleven

  “It’s the same concentration of prussic acid that killed Miss Barker,” Felix said, finishing his report on the post-mortem of George Gosforth. “Perhaps from the same source, as it was uncommonly high.”

  “Not readily available, then?” Major Vernon said.

  “No.”

  “So where did he get it?” Major Vernon said, leaving his writing desk and going to the wall where he had pinned his notes. “Or where did she get it? Or perhaps Gosforth obtains it in the first place, and dupes her into drinking it, knowing he will benefit financially. Then loses his nerve when he realises what he has done and goes into hiding. I track him down, and start to interview him, and he decides he just can’t face the inevitable, so drinks another dose.”

  “Murder-suicide,” said Felix. “It is plausible. He had access, he had motive and he had means.”

  “I should have searched him,” Major Vernon said. “Why did I not?”

  “Because there was no reason for you to think he would have such a thing on his person. It’s not commonplace to have a flask of prussic acid of that strength in your overcoat pocket, and even less so to self-murder in such circumstances. He did not present any obvious risk.”

  “I know, but I still feel I could predicted something. He was disturbed, and –”

  “You could not have predicted it, sir. No-one could have predicted that.”

  “Perhaps,” said Major Vernon. He went and sat down again, massaging his temples. “What bothers me is what we still don’t know about it. Perhaps it was not an admission of guilt, but something else. It’s too neat.”

  “Such as?” said Felix sitting down opposite. Major Vernon continued to rub his temples. “Is your head bothering you again, sir?”

  “I didn’t sleep. It’s just because I am tired.”

  “I should send you home.”

  “I won’t sleep; well, not unless I take something, and I know your feelings about that.”

  “And I think you agreed with me?” said Felix. Major Vernon had been using laudanum rather too liberally as a cure for insomnia and Felix had been obliged to have words with him about it.

  “I do,” the Major said, and got up again to put down the blind as if the light in the room bothered him. The room was now distinctly gloomy. “It is not a habit I should get into.”

  “You could still take a little, if your head is very bad,” said Felix, who was torn between advising restraint and wanting to help him. “And you found Mrs Connolly’s camomile quite helpful.”

  “It was, on occasion. Perhaps not this occasion, though.” He picked up the little label that had been tied round the neck of the flask and looked at it. “I have to go back tomorrow and find where this stuff came from. ‘Eternal Peace’ – you know what that sounds likes to me? – a longing for death. There’s something so deliberate about it. Maybe Gosforth had been thinking of doing it for days – maybe he needed courage, and that was what happened at the Black Cat – he found it. She had the courage and went first. He was joining her after.”

  “You mean a compact to self-murder?”

  “That’s not impossible, is it? I have read of other cases.”

  “In literature. But in reality?” said Felix. “Surely not.”

  “Milburne and Gosforth were playing at knights, at chivalry. They were intoxicated by their games. Milburne has run up atrocious debts, encouraged by Gosforth. It was all very elaborate and fanciful. Maybe this is part of that game and Miss Barker was part of it. He kept saying it was not about money. So was it about love? Some wild, fantastical way of being in love. Perhaps death – or ‘Eternal Peace’, as it says on the bottle – perhaps it is something they aspired to.”

  “Why would you aspire to death?” said Felix.

  “Because you are too young to know what it really means? And it’s an escape – a place where they thought they could be happy together, without having to deceive anyone.”

  Felix thought of the two corpses lying side by side in the morgue at the Police Headquarters.

  “Together in death,” he said. “Well, they are now. But she was pious. Why would she do that, if she believed it would endanger their souls forever?”

  “It isn’t hard to play piety either,” said Major Vernon. “Plenty of people say one thing and believe another.”

  “True enough,” said Felix.

  “It’s just a theory, of course,” said Major Vernon, “and the simplest explanation, our first one, is on the balance of probability most likely. Money as the driving force. But there is still too much we don’t know.”

  “What was it that Yardley said to him?” Felix said.

  Major Vernon consulted his notes.

  “He said: ‘I would be grateful if you would favour me with your company’.”

  “And how did he say it?”

  “Civilly enough,” said Major Vernon. “Nothing you would remark at. But strange, I suppose, given that Gosforth was a nobody in relation to Yardley, that he should say it all.”

  “Exactly,” said Felix. “So perhaps it was Yardley who put the fear of God into him? What did you make of him?” Felix went on.

  Major Vernon considered.

  “I was annoyed with him for interrupting, but he seemed harmless enough. Why do you ask?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t care for him, but it doesn’t mean anything. I expect I am clouding this with prejudice.”

  “But what you say is not so outlandish. Perhaps Yardley did put the fear of God into Gosforth. It did seem to change his mood. Perhaps it was what Yardley represents – the opinion of the town? Obviously they were a little acquainted. Although he does not seem particularly admirable to you, Carswell, he may have seemed admirable to Gosforth. Being taken up by him would matter in a place like Whithorne. Gosforth was clearly someone with social ambitions – hence his friendship with Milburne.”

  “And Yardley likes the antiquarian trash,” said Felix. “Suits of armour and all that medieval nonsense.”

  “I shall have to talk to him,” the Major said.

  “I wish you joy of that,” said Felix getting up. “Is that all, sir? I should get back. I have a few tests running. And perhaps you should go home and rest. Even if you can’t sleep.”

  “I need to go and dress,
” the Major said. “I am dining at my sister’s.”

  -o-

  Felix did not leave his laboratory until after seven. Having two post-mortems in hand and testing all the bottles on Miss Barker’s dressing table for toxicity had filled his day and he was looking forward to an idle evening, perhaps in Sukey’s arms – if she would permit it.

  The atmosphere was still cool between them. He had deliberately come home late on the evening of his return to Northminster, and instead of the ecstatic reunion he had dreamed of, he had only exchanged a few words with her, before she had excused herself and gone to bed. She said she was tired. He had taken this as a clear signal that he was not to join her and so had passed the night alone in an agony of anxiety and frustration, wanting nothing better than to creep downstairs and into her warm bed.

  How intensely disagreeable this mock-marriage could be. The price they had to pay to be together seemed high.

  As he let himself into the house, he heard the sound of piano music. The piano was a new arrival – it had come with Professor Holzknecht and his son. Like them, it was German, and apparently the latest thing in pianos. Certainly it seemed to make far more noise than pianos usually did and today someone was playing an irritatingly jaunty dance tune. As he came into the hall, he saw the door to their sitting room was wide open and the reason for the music was at once clear.

  Sukey was dancing with the younger Herr Holzknecht. Felix didn’t recognise the dance – it was some kind of vigorous galop that involved a great deal of spinning, turning and hopping, apparently, and it was clear that Sukey was thoroughly enjoying it. She was flushed and smiling broadly up at her partner.

  “Very, very good, Mrs Connolly,” Holzknecht said. “You have it perfectly. Hop, two, three, four...”

  “Hop, two, three, four,” said Sukey, laughing. “Hop, two, three, four.”

  Holzknecht spun her again and gave a kind of whoop. He was holding her far too close for Felix’s liking, his long arm curled about her waist, the other hand in hers, fingers knotted together.

  Felix stood at the threshold, his hat still in his hand, and watched, in a mixture of pleasure and agony. He had never seen her dance before, and the sight of her joyous but graceful abandon was dazzling, but at the same time it was entirely unbearable.